Chapter Four
JAKE
Leftover Chinese food.
Again.
The kitchen goes when I close the fridge, illuminated only by the lamplight coming from the other room. The sound of the TV playing footage from my game last night fills the space, but I try to tune it out as I scrap the leftovers onto a plate.
If Coach saw the carb content of everything I’ve been eating recently, he’d make me run drills all practice.
Sighing, I take my plate of food to the couch and prop my feet up on the coffee table, the one thing in my apartment that isn’t made of chrome, glass or some fancy shit like that — I don’t even know the materials because I didn’t pick anything.
The entirety of my luxury one-bedroom apartment was decorated by whatever interior designer was hot shit at the time, a fact I’ve come to resent.
At the time, I didn’t care what my apartment looked like; I just wanted it to look good .
Like it was owned by a hotshot hockey star.
Now, though? It’s like I’m living in someone else’s home, the accents and furniture all “modern luxury.”
Except for my coffee table. That’s the only thing here that feels me.
It’s a leftover from my college days, and it is the one piece of furniture I haven’t had the heart to let go of yet.
The thing is a beast. It’s carried enough pizza to feed an army, and I know for a fact it can hold my weight and Abbie’s?—
I hear the cheering crowds on the TV. I cut my thoughts off with a shake of my head. Hockey. My game last night. Focus.
That lasts for all of ten seconds before my phone rings. It’s Carter.
“Hey, dickhead,” I answer, propping the phone between my ear and shoulder, shoving a forkful of chow mein into my mouth. “What’s up?”
“Hey, asshole,” Carter chuckles. There’s an echo-y sound in the background like he’s at the rec center rink. “Just checking in. What are you up to?”
Arching a brow, I finish chewing and swallow. “That’s… nice of you. I’m just going through some gameplay footage from last night.”
“Ah, yeah, great game. Jordan, Tom, and I watched. I miss you, man. It’s not the same, seeing you on the TV.”
“You’re feeling a little sappy,” I note suspiciously. “Is it possible that Soph’s pregnancy hormones are leaking into you ?”
Carter snorts. “No. I just… I don’t know. We’re down in Connecticut for a few playoff games Jordan has… watching him practice with his buddies just made me think of when we were in school on the team, and then on the Reapers together…”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Yeah, we had some pretty good times.”
“Hey, would you want to come down? When’s your next rest day?”
“Tomorrow and Sunday. Why?”
“Maybe you should come down here tomorrow. Jordan and his friends would lose their minds.”
That’s not a bad idea. I could use a break from the loneliness of my apartment. When was the last time I left the city when it wasn’t for an away game? But it is pretty last minute…
“I don’t know, man, are there even any hotel rooms left? Don’t get me wrong, I like you fine, but I don’t want to wake up snuggling you in a queen-sized bed.”
Carter snorts. “Like the two of us would fit on a queen-sized mattress. I think they might have been all booked out, but maybe there was a cancellation. Hold on. I’m going to call them, stay on the line.”
He starts a three-way call like we’re in fucking high school again, and when the hotel answers, he’s all business. “Yes, I’m calling regarding the room block for the Junior Thorns hockey team this weekend. Have there been any cancellations?”
There’s the faint sound of a keyboard clacking in the background before the man speaks. “Yes, and?—”
“Perfect,” Carter jumps in, too pumped up to listen to explanations about why it was cancelled or who. “Please reserve it under Williams, and go ahead and use the payment method on file for that same name.”
“It’s already done, sir.” The man on the other line speaks in a tone I can’t quite place. I guess he’s not too happy about Carter cutting him off like that.
“See?” Carter asks, ending the call to the hotel. “You’re all set, so we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
We hang up, and my head falls back, hitting the couch. Carter and I have really grown apart the last few years, ever since he retired. I used to revel in loneliness. Use it like a shield against everyone, especially the women I’d sleep with.
Until… Abbie.
Being with her was the last time I didn’t feel this way.
Things with Abbie were always so easy. Friends with benefits, while somehow being more and less at the same time.
She saw past my bullshit, and I never had to put on my mask with her.
We had so many great times together. Laughing, joking, fucking… can’t forget about the fucking.
I can’t help but feel the tiniest twinge of guilt at the thought of Abbie and how I cut her off, but it’s not like either of us ever made any kind of commitment to each other.
In fact, we both specifically avoided commitment.
There’s no reason for me to feel any kind of guilt at all.
And years have passed since I’ve even seen her.
Why is she still always on my mind like this?
We haven’t seen or spoken to each other since Carter and Sophie’s wedding, and it’s going to stay that way. She belongs in the past, with all my other fuck-ups and mistakes, like fucking Cassandra.
Logically, I know that what Cassandra did has nothing to do with Abbie, but that didn’t stop me from cutting all contact, convinced I had gone soft for her. It’s what made me so susceptible to Cassandra in the first place. My guard was down.
Now, if I want to fuck someone, I go to clubs that serve higher-end clientele and everyone knows how to be discreet.
I take the girls back to their place — because yeah, no, I’m never bringing anyone back to mine — and even that only happens after I have them sign an NDA.
There’s no talking, no cuddling, and no illusion that they’re fucking special and I’ll magically fall in love with them.
It’s very damn clear that I just need something to fuck, and it doesn’t make a difference to me if it’s them or my hand. I’m not a sweet guy, and I’m nobody’s goddamn knight in shining armor.
There’s just something about Abbie that kept drawing me in and has made her impossible to forget.
Scrolling through my phone, I find her name in my contact list, my thumb hovering over the text icon.
It’s a ritual I torture myself with every few months, when I debate reaching out to her.
No good can come of it. Something in me craves the ease of what we had though.
The way our conversations made me feel just as light as the afterglow of sex.
They weren’t deep or meaningful conversations by any means. It was the same fucking conversation I could have had with Carter, yet somehow, with Abbie, it was different.
And that’s why I had to cut things off. It took nearly getting ruined by a desperate puck bunny to realize that.
Without thinking, I open my pictures and start scrolling. Back to four years ago, when Abbie was the only one I was sleeping with.
Not a relationship.
There are a few pictures of the two of us — the “friends” side of the friends with benefits situation we were in, but as I keep scrolling, the next set of pictures reveal themselves and my cock grows impossibly hard.
Fuck me.
How could I have forgotten just how absolutely sinful her body is? Fuck, why do I still have these nudes she sent me? I should delete them right fucking now.
But… shit.
This picture, I remember vividly, she sent to me while I was gone for an away game.
She’s in nothing but a black lace thong, her deliciously juicy thighs and perfect, round tits on full display for me.
Her glossy, chestnut brown hair barely covers her shoulders, and her chocolate brown eyes are filled with heat as she bites her lip, looking straight into the camera.
Immediately after sending it, she asked me if I liked the picture, then asked for proof. Of course that led to us having video chat sex while we got ourselves off.
That memory has me flipping through more nudes, each photo making me concentrate on something new. Those curves, the creamy smoothness of her skin, the memory of how fucking soft she was beneath me… this is why. This is why I had to end things. I go too soft for her.
Though my cock is anything but soft right now. Nope, it’s as hard as fucking rock, remembering how it felt to slide into her warm, wet heat.
Before I know it, I head to the bathroom and turn on the shower. I get under the hot water, palming my straining cock.
Hissing under breath as I jerk my fist, I rest my forehead on the tile of the shower and fuck my own hand, barely thrusting my hips.
Thoughts, memories, and fucking visions of the times Abbie and me spent together assault my senses, and if I concentrate, I can almost hear the way she sounded coming apart on my cock.
The way she felt underneath me, how she looked on her knees in front of me, her lips wrapped around my cock…
A low groan escapes me as my hand movement grows frantic, chasing the release that’s just out of reach.
Our dirty talk, how she wanted me to hunt her down, rip the clothing from her body, and fuck her raw. If she were in this shower with me, would she be on her knees? Would she open her mouth wide so I could jerk my cum straight into her pretty mouth?
Fuck. The thought of her swallowing me down sends me over the edge. I paint the tiles of the shower wall with my release, my thrusts slowing until the wave of my orgasm slows to a stop.
Breathing hard, I release my softening cock from the death grip of my hand and close my eyes as the torrent of water pounds into me. My heart pounds in my chest.
Wow.
I can’t do this again.
Thinking of Abbie again, lusting over something I can’t have…
nothing good can come of it. I have to put a stop to it now, before I find myself crawling back to her.
That will never fucking happen. Like I said, I’m not a sweet guy.
I don’t do relationships, and I certainly don’t go soft for girls like Abbie fucking Wixx, no matter how much I want to.
But there’s something about her I can’t seem to let go of, and that scares the absolute shit out of me.